Help Wanted
by Dorian Blackthorne theowl
Summary: Short little mostly pointless piece that examines the question 'Just how did Snyder get that job anyway?' Please R


Title: Help Wanted

Rating: PG

Disclaimers: All these characters belong to Fox, not me.

Spoilers: Sorta, from season 1 or 2.

Archive: Sure, just let me know where.

Notes: This really isn't hooked into my other stories, although it does kind of relate to part of "Taking the Initiative." But I had a plot demon lodge itself in my brain, and tell me in a distinct Eric Cartman voice: "Write me or I'm gonna kick you square in the nuts!" So I did.

Synopsis: Just how **did** Snyder get hired as Principal?

*****

It was dark in the office. The sort of dark that somehow seems to be much more than simply a lack of light, as though the darkness itself were somehow alive and spreading.

In short, it was the perfect office for the Commissioner of the Sunnydale police force.

Commissioner McCrate was in a bad mood anyway. It seemed that a bunch of wild animals had torn the high school principal apart a few days ago. They didn't leave much, and it was obvious that a replacement was needed. So, hizzoner, Mayor Wilkins had cordially requested that McCrate take a hand in getting a new principal for the school. Requested. Right. Maybe on the surface it had been a request, but McCrate could see the words behind the eyes.

"Get me a new principal, or you may end up eaten," they said.

So here he was, going through folder after folder of candidates, all gushing on in their letters about how perfect they'd be for the newly opened position.  
  


"Wouldn't be so goddamned excited about it if they new what happened to the old principal," he muttered, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels and a coffee cup from the bottom drawer of his desk. He shifted his large frame, attempting in vain to get more comfortable in the chair.

Of course, not a single one of the folders held information on the kind of person he needed for the job. Wilkins had been very specific about that.

"Someone who will keep the students in line, real old school stuff," he had said, "Particularly any…trouble makers. Can't have these kids going to graduation without any discipline in their lives, now can we?"

Uh huh. McCrate knew who the mayor was talking about. 

Buffy Summers. 

McCrate half filled the cup, and then returned the whiskey to its place.

Problem was, even though he had to do as the mayor asked, he respected Summers. A lot. It didn't take a genius to notice that once she had arrived in Sunnydale, the death rate took a dramatic drop almost overnight. So far, this had been the best survival rate for any single class in the town's school history.

So, here he was, trying to find some hard-ass principal material in order to keep an eye on what was probably the best thing to ever hit this forsaken little burg.

Frustrated, he took a drink, relishing the burning feeling the whiskey left down the back of his throat.

"You're not going to find what you're looking for in that stack," came a voice from the doorway. McCrate looked up and saw a tall man standing in the shadows.

"Help you?" he asked, annoyed that he'd been interrupted.

"I think I can help you, Commissioner," the man replied evenly. As the stranger walked into the light, McCrate judged him to be somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age. The face was well worn, and his hair was mostly gray, although it had once been coal black. The man wore a simple black jacket and pant combination with a white shirt and a black tie. 

"What's the FBI doing in Sunnydale?" he asked as the stranger took a seat in front of his desk.

"Despite my appearance," the man replied, "I'm not with the FBI. I represent some…others who have a marked interest in the future happenings in Sunnydale." Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a battered pack of Morely cigarettes.

"There's no smoking in here," McCrate said bluntly.

The stranger simply looked at him, and proceeded to light up, adding to McCrate's annoyance.

"Look, friend, I think you'd better…"

"Tell me, Commissioner," the man interrupted. "How many applicant's do you think will be interested once they find out how the previous Principal was…retired?"

McCrate stopped and looked at the man, who nonchalantly inhaled from his cigarette. 

"How do you know about that?" he asked.

"I know a great deal about this town," the man answered. "And I know that you are in need of a new Principal. I also know that Mayor Wilkins has put you in charge of finding one."

"Right, so you've got someone in mind who will be able to deal with Sunnydale's…unique problems?" McCrate shot back.

The man inhaled from his cigarette again.

"There are no unique problems in Sunnydale, Commissioner," he replied, exhaling. "Not as far as," he tossed a manila envelope onto McCrate's desk. "This man is concerned."

McCrate picked up the envelope, and took a brief glance at it's contents.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man stood and walked towards the door.

"As I said," he replied, taking another drag, "I represent some people with an interest in Sunnydale. Goodnight, Commissioner."

As the stranger exited, McCrate began to look at the paperwork he'd been given in earnest. It seemed his visitor was correct. From everything he was reading, this man would be the perfect fit for his needs. He grabbed the phone and dialed the number listed on one of the pages.

"Mr. Snyder?" he asked when the line was answered. "Yes, this is Commissioner John McCrate in Sunnydale California. I think I have a job opening you may be interested in…"


End file.
